


Heartbreak Incarnate

by dollylux



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: 2008 Summer Olympics, Anger, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-21
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger sees Rafa for the first time since Rafa becomes number one in the world, knocking Roger out of the spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They hadn't really spoken since they'd both arrived in Beijing just a day apart. Sure, there had been the random sightings, the eyes meeting across the room or the court, but no real conversations, no awkward pauses, no exchange of actual thoughts about the rankings change, about the status of their friendship, about the falter and recovery of Roger's game. They remained an unspoken but safe distance from each other, seeming too busy to share even a moment, even a word. Rafa could have sworn he saw heartbreak in Roger's eyes, a sharp glance that smacked of betrayal. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, and he most certainly didn't know all of the words in their shared language to ask about it even if the moment did present itself. So instead, he played it safe, stayed as far away as he could manage, all tight smiles and a lifted wave of crooked fingers.

His luck ran out after practice one late evening. He was almost packed up completely, almost ready to head back to his apartment at the Olympic Village, his arms aching, knee throbbing dully. All he could think about was a decent, hot meal and how cool his clean sheets would feel in his temporary bed. These thoughts almost dragged a smile onto his face as he lifted his bags up onto his shoulders, shrugging them up farther as he took his first step toward the door. The second one was halted by a voice from behind him.

"Long time, no see."

Rafa knew the grammar was all wrong in the sentence and almost assumed for a moment that Roger was mocking him, but the rhythm of the words seemed like a phrase and so he calmed himself, his heart finding its normal pace as he turned around, eyes bright with pleasant surprise and apprehension.

"Hey, Roger. How have you been?"

He tipped one toe down toward the floor, digging it in to stretch his calf muscles. He saw Roger's eyes slide down his body to watch the movement, saw them linger a little too long. He blushed, pressed his whole foot into the ground and smiled. Roger didn't smile back.

"Getting better, getting better. Had a pretty tough month, but I'm finding my rhythm here, I think. But, hey, you're doing good, huh? Practically Superman." Rafa would have smiled any other time simply because the words were charming, a friendly teasing that would have made him laugh and maybe nudge Roger and return the banter. But Roger still wasn't smiling, his eyes or his mouth. His hand was tight around a racket that Rafa just now noticed. Rafa's head tipped to the side almost childishly, eyes glittering with confusion. He opened his mouth in a soft "O" to try and form a response to that but Roger beat him to it.

"Congratulations, by the way. I haven't gotten a chance to tell you. How does number one feel?"

Rafa did laugh finally but it was just a breath, an uncomfortable one that accompanied a step toward Roger. Roger stiffened and almost took a step back, a reaction that left Rafa feeling cold, stopping him immediately. His laughter died around them in an echo. "You know better than anyone, no? And number one is not here yet. You still number one in the world, Roger."

Roger's jaw clenched, his head jerking almost indiscernibly in what could only be fury. His cheeks summoned a deep pink as he finally took a step toward Rafa. It was Rafa's turn to step back. "I'm not the goddamn number one anymore, Rafa. You can stop all this hero worship bullshit now. You've finally gotten what you wanted. Are you happy now? Do you like how everyone is kissing your ass now? Hey, maybe you'll get by with even more on the court now, huh? Would they really give a time violation to their precious bull now that he's number one?"

Rafa blinked in stutters, feeling the sting of Roger's words, letting them rip at him like they had intended to. The disgust on Roger's face hurt him more than anything and he could hardly contain the shock of realizing that tears were welling in his eyes, that his chin was trembling, his face softening with hurt. "Roger, I never wanted to hurt you. I--" He stopped speaking then, the feel of a sob caught in his throat forcing him to. When he tried to speak again he was interrupted by the spilling of hot tears down his sunburned cheeks. He gasped out a sob and turned away from Roger in absolute humiliation. His feet couldn't carry him out of the room fast enough. The slam of the door announced his exit.

Roger stood staring after him, watching him like he was just a movie, a scene played out, not anything that he had to do with it, not like he was the direct cause of any of that. Images flashed in his mind like Polaroids: the complete heartbreak in Rafa's dark eyes, the crumple of his features as he dissolved into tears, the boyishness in the way he ran away, his shoulders drawn in, feet tripping over themselves in their haste.

He slammed his racket against the nearest locker, breaking it into two parts. He left it in pieces on the floor, leaving out the opposite door that Rafa had.


	2. Chapter 2

Roger gave a dignified wave to the crowd, offering the the last of his smile that he had left, by-passing the gathering of fans overhead to leave the court completely. The smile immediately left, replaced by a slight sting in his sinuses, his eyes damp, walking faster to get to the locker room, just get there, Rog, one more step, just one more, one more point, just get through this deuce, just get to the tiebreak, just three more points... 

His violent scream erupted the moment he was inside the locker room, the frustration of it driving everyone out without a backwards glance, like a bomb threat. Roger threw his bags to the floor, kicking them when they didn't hit hard enough. He drove his hands up through his hair, gripping the damp ends of it as he dropped suddenly into a crouch, a sob tearing up from his gut and erupting into the quiet air around him. He gripped his hair harder as he let out another sob, tears spotting his lean thighs. 

He had just lost his chance in the Olympics. Lost to a man that had never before defeated him. He had just given his detractors a whole fresh round of ammunition.

His hands finally loosened on his hair, his face crumpling as he pressed the back of one of those hands to it, crying soundlessly now, the exhaustion and heat setting up on his shoulders, weighing him down even more. He was just about to let his legs give out from under him to collapse on the floor when he felt the ghosting of two hands on his face, tender, calloused fingers carefully splaying on his cheeks, lifting his head. Roger knew who it was without looking and so he kept his eyes closed to him, the tears escaping under his eyelashes, self-conscience suddenly about how distorted crying made his face feel, did he look just as terrible as he felt?

"Rogelio..." There was pain in Rafa's voice, there were salt tears in that word. Roger almost faltered for all of it, especially when he felt the cool silk of Rafa's lips on his forehead, first one and then another. He sobbed again, leaning forward into Rafa before suddenly shoving him away, the sob ending in a roar as he climbed to his feet. Rafa followed, shocked.

"Don't you touch me! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" Roger's voice cracked, further infuriating him. He opened his eyes finally and stared at Rafael Nadal head-on, terrified of him suddenly, terrified of his sheer beauty and his gentleness, terrified of the love in his eyes and of the talent he kept encased inside of him, a talent that he himself had never doubted but he knew in a moment that he had somehow underestimated him. He knew now that he would never be able to gauge Rafa's talent, not even against his own. He wanted to hate him. 

Rafa didn't say a word. He simply stood a couple of feet back from Roger, not braced or flinching, tears in his eyes, his fingers fluttering at his sides, ready to comfort Roger again in a moment's notice. 

Irate that Rafa didn't react, Roger charged toward him, rough hands coming up to grip the front of Rafa's red shirt, using that grip to shove him back violently, satisfied by the sound of his strong back hitting the lockers, by seeing the pain registering on his face. He didn't even whimper.

"Why did you do this to me!?" Roger brought his fists against Rafa's chest, feeling like he was hitting steel, sobbing helplessly now, crying as he hit him over and over and over, his voice weakening, his words barely understood as he cried. "Why did you ruin me? Why did you break me? Why didn't you care enough?" His fists finally stopped as he fell forward against Rafa, his arms curled between their chests, his face pressing hard against Rafa's neck, the wrack of his sobs muffled there. "Why, Rafa?"

Rafa wrapped his arms around Roger, determined not to cry himself though his chin shook with it. He cradled the world's number one tennis player against himself, face pressed into his hair, raining kisses on it without pause. Roger's sobs shook them both but it only made Rafa hold on tighter, his fingers digging into his shirt and his skin, wanting to pull Roger inside of himself and hide him there, keep him safe, surely to god he deserved that. He was just a boy, twenty-seven years old, this was just a boy that had been made to be a man all his life, just a boy that accepted the whole world on his lean shoulders, that carried it proudly and with more dignity than all of the crowned heads of Europe. He was just a boy.

"I love you, Roger."

Roger clung to him, digging out toothy kisses into Rafa's neck now, apologies, all of them, Rafa's voice like aloe to his heart. He finally lifted his head to meet those eyes which caused his own to fill with tears again. His mouth trembled to find all of the right words to apologize. Rafa didn't want any apologies, he didn't need them. In a way unique to Rafa, he had understood Roger. Every bit of it.


End file.
